Sunday 1 November 2015

Episode 17 - Bontemps

Back at the cottage, Robert suddenly remembered what Mrs Crighton had told him before slamming the door in his face.
"Jessica didn't hang around at the bungalow, Cleo", Robert called out as Cleo came into the living-room a while later still burning inside from the intensely emotional minutes in Gary’s arms and a bit out of breath from the race to get home before Robert started to wonder where she was.
"How do you know?"
"Mrs Crighton told me Jessica had hurried up the road looking flushed."
"Why didn't you tell me that earlier?"
"I forgot."
"But it might be a vital clue."
"Sorry."
Cleo dialled Gary's mobile number. He was still at the bungalow. Jason's body had been wrapped in foil and put in the ambulance. The forensic team would need a couple more hours. He could call in at Cleo's cottage on the way home in a few minutes.
"I'll make coffee," said Cleo. "Robert's just thought of something."
Blast the man, thought Gary.
“Hasn’t he gone to bed yet?”
“Not yet.”
"Did he warn everyone about Jessica?"
 "I’m sure he did. Don't fuss, Gary."
***
Laura Finch's neighbours would be questioned the following day, Gary told her. Shirley would deal with it, taking a colleague with her for support. There would be no fuss, he hoped.
As far as Cleo could judge, the only person fussing was Gary.
“So what's it all about, Robert?" Gary was asking half an hour later.
"I've just remembered what Mrs Crighton next door to Laura's place said about Jessica."
Robert told Gary what had happened, apologizing profusely for having forgotten.
"Actually, that doesn't surprise me. Whatever role Jessica played in that scenario, she must have been anxious to get away from it."
"So Jessica quite possibly caught a train somewhere,” said Cleo.
“Or hitched a lift,” Robert suggested.
"That information could be important, Robert. I'm glad you remembered it."
The sarcasm in Gary's voice did not escape Robert. He was upset. Cleo covered for him by announcing that she would get the coffee and suggested that Robert went to bed since he had to get up early. She would drink coffee with Gary and then send him home.
Gary guessed that Robert was not really enjoying the situation, but Cleo was revelling in it. He decided to go with the flow. If Cleo wanted to make love, he would be overjoyed, but not interpret it as a committal. Her help in the Finch case was just as precious. He needed need all the help he could get. Murder was not a frequent occurrence in a village like Upper Grumpsfield, unless you counted the cases of mercy killing and quiet doing away with unwanted and unloved individuals, none of which could be proved.
The villagers stuck together like blood brothers when the crunch came, and the police were powerless, but a private person with inside information was a different matter. He would be foolish not to play the system. Robert was in an ideal position to pick up rumours and gossip. Cleo would filter it all and keep anything relevant in mind for future reference.
Robert went to bed. Half an hour later Gary left. They had been circumspect. There was no knowing if Robert eavesdropped. Gary would meet Cleo at Roman’s around lunchtime unless there was a hitch.
Sleep evaded Cleo for ages. Her attraction to Gary disturbed her. She would have to put a stop to it before she was completely hooked.
***
Cleo made a special effort to get up early and cook Robert a fried breakfast.
"Where would you go if you had to hide, Robert?" she asked him.
"That depends on what I was hiding from," said Robert, who was grateful that Cleo had taken the trouble to get up.
"Well, say you were Jessica and had either committed the murder or witnessed it, were scared out of your wits and had fled."
"In that case I might catch the first bus," said Robert, rather flippantly. He did not relish quiz games.
"And what if the next bus were not until much later?"
"Then I'd hitch a lift.”
“And if no one stopped for you?”
“Then I’d have to take the first train out."
"But you always have to wait for public transport and you wouldn't want to hang around."
“Then I'd nick a bicycle and head for the coast."
"Don't make fun, Robert. This is a serious matter."
"I thought you needed cheering up."
"Well, I don't. As far as I can see, the only hiding places are the woods round here, assuming all the tool sheds are locked, but that's probably the last place Jessica would hide after what happened."
"Some people leave keys handy for anyone wanting to get into their property," Robert suggested.
"What about Monkton Priory ruins? Wouldn't that be an ideal place to hide?"
"Too creepy. You wouldn't catch me round there at night," said Robert.
"I agree," said Cleo.
"That didn’t sound convincing,” said Robert. “You are categorically forbidden to go to Monkton Priory to look for Jessica."
"I don't know if she's there. It's only a theory."
"Your theories turn into practical propositions at the drop of a hat, Cleo."
"That's not true." said Cleo.
“I’m leaving for the shop now, Cleo, after a splendid fry-up. I need steaks from the wholesaler and I don’t expect you to get up to any wild stunts while I’m out.”
“What wild stunts?”
"I know all about your ghost tours at the priory, remember."
***
What on earth had made him think of them?
***
"OK. What about my ghost tours? You never came on one. In those days we even didn't know each other except for my buying meat at your shop."
"But I knew Mr Gibbons. Remember him, Cleo? You scared the wits out of him."
“Is that relevant now, Robert?”
Robert was nervous.
"I thought I heard something, but I can't see anyone," said Robert, looking out of the window facing the back garden.
"Mr Gibbons said he was a ghost hunter. It's amazing what cowards grown men can be."
"He was quite a good customer. I never saw him again. You drove him away."
"Did I?"
"Letting him and all the others think the priory is haunted."
"Well it is."
"Stuff and rubbish, Cleo, and you know it."
"This country is full of haunted houses and ghosts. Why shouldn't there be any at Monkton Priory?"
"Because there's no such thing."
"The people who've seen ghosts can't all be as mad as hatters. Monkton Priory is the perfect setting with the perfect history for that sort of thing."
"You made the history up, Cleo."
 "I did not. I researched it thoroughly. Dorothy helped me."
"She would, wouldn't she? All that rubbish about Henry VIII and the monks, I suppose. She even wrote the story for the Gazette once."
"We Americans treasure British history and traditions, Robert."
"More fool you."
"Look Robert. Monkton Priory is officially my property, even if it is a protected ruin. It was left to me by my father. His grandfather or was it his great grandfather won it at cards. It's all in the deeds. I'm not trespassing when I go there. I can go there any time I want to. No questions asked. But I don't want people hiding there."
"People go there all the time without asking permission."
"But not to hide from the police."
"Tell Gary Hurley to search the place. That's the right way to go about it."
"But what if Jessica is an innocent victim?"
"They'll find that out."
"And if they just assume she's hiding because she committed one, or maybe even two murders? They might shoot her on sight," said Cleo.
"The police aren’t usually armed. They don't go round shooting people here, Cleo. We're not in Chicago!"
"Sometimes I think I was safer there than here."
"I’m leaving. I can't stop you if you've made up your mind to do something, can I?"
“No. Are you mad at me, Robert?”
"Not really, but your absurd theories are scarifying."
***
Gary phoned just after Robert had left for the shop. He was curious to hear what conclusions Cleo could have come to since the previous night. Cleo did not disappoint him.
"If Jessica is innocent she might want to stick around, but not be seen."
"That's a big if, Cleo, but I'll keep it in mind. I also have a report from Chris. Shall I read it out before sending it? You may want to comment.”
“Awesome. Please do.”
“Chris writes: By comparing our collection of fingerprints we have established that no stranger has been in Mrs Finch's bungalow since she moved in, so she left the house either alone or with someone she knew. There were no usable prints at all in Cleo’s office, apart from hers and Robert's, so whoever put the body in there was wearing gloves. It's impossible to get in and out of that window without holding on to the window frame."
“Why didn’t they just leave the body inside the window where it dropped?” Cleo said.
“Now you’re asking,” said Gary.
“I can only think of one reason, and that would be to get the blanket back.”
”But they could have done that by simply unrolling the corpse below the window, Cleo.”
“Or whoever was in my office wanted to have a good look round.”
“I hope they were disappointed.”
“Sure. The data is on a cloud for convenience and it has a password. I also carry my laptop around. I will only use the computer with the printer because that’s quicker than hooking up the laptop. Reserve data is on the external hard disc and that is in my bag when it isn’t hooked up to another device.”
“Hackers wouldn’t bother about little things like passwords,” said Gary
“Maybe someone just wanted to ruin my carpet!”
“I suppose people have been murdered for such a trivial reason!”
“It is not trivial if it means my office is not serviceable,” said Cleo, dropping Gary a large hint about releasing the property. “"What about Bontemps, Gary? Is he in the clear?"
"No. While he was in custody we found a few suspicious items of electronic equipment in his flat and on the shelves in the shop where he works. On being asked about them, he told us that they were presents for people and that he kept a stock so that he was ready for all contingencies."
"I hope you didn't believe him."
"Of course not. Some of the goods tallied with products stolen in big style from a raid on an electronics store in Oxford. When challenged again, he said friends had given him them for safe-keeping. He would not budge on that information."
"You've got to hand it to him. He seems to have plenty of criminal energy to talk himself out of sticky situations,” said Cleo.
"He could have been repeating what he'd been told to. The Norton brothers don't leave anything to chance. If there were no other fingerprints in your office, whoever was in there must have been wearing gloves.”
“Betjeman always wore gloves. He would make an ideal suspect.”
“But he would not have the brain to be an option for the sly Norton brothers assuming they had a hand in the murder,” said Gary.
“Bontemps wore gloves to move refrigerated goods and lift heavy crates. Maybe you should keep both guys in mind, Gary.”
“I intend to. Bontemps seemed very uneasy at his first questioning. When we got him in early this morning he wriggled around on his chair and cracked his fingers.”
“You didn’t get much sleep last night then,” said Cleo.
“I don’t suppose you did either, Cleo.”
“So you got up and hauled Bontemps back in, did you?”
“And he was in a panic. Eventually he confessed about the paint on the shop window, so you can rest easy about that. The timing with the writing on Miss Price's mirror was a coincidence. He didn’t even know about that."
“The early bird caught one worm, but we still don't know how the writing got on Dorothy's mirror, Gary."
"Whoever got into Miss Price’s cottage had definitely used the key hidden under the little milk crate. She told Shirley that."
"She didn't tell me and she could have been theorizing."
"A trespasser would be bound to spot it immediately, and presumably did," said Gary.
“A trespasser with a mission,” said Cleo. “Like when someone breaks into the Tower of London to steal the crown jewels, maybe.”
***
“Anyway, the door key was definitely hanging on the bottle container the night someone entered and wrote on that mirror, because Dorothy was expecting the milkman to deliver yoghurt and he always puts it in the fridge..."
“What a trusting soul you have as a friend, Cleo.”
“… using the help-yourself door key,” said Cleo. “I knew about the yoghurt, but I did not know that the milkman also had the run of her cottage in her absence. I’ll talk to her about that, but the more I hear about the incident, the more I think that the writing on Dorothy’s mirror was just a badly timed prank, Gary."
"Tell me more! You seem to have theory."
"It could have been the Parsnip kids. I know one of them was forced to take piano lessons. They might have decided to teach Dorothy a lesson."
“Surely they wouldn't do that, Cleo."
"I’ll ask them! If they are innocent maybe one of Dorothy’s other piano pupils did it."
Cleo was enjoying Gary's reaction.
"OK, OK. Do that! Writing on old ladies' bathroom mirrors is not the way gangsters work. Threats and bullying, even blackmail or murder, but not toothpaste messages on mirrors," said Gary.
***
"To change the subject: Are the Norton brothers in custody?"
"We're working on that. Get to Bontemps' shop before you go to the vicarage. The guy's back at work again since we need to trail him and perhaps be led to his partners in crime. He said he hardly knew the Nortons, but his twitching fingers said something different. I'll have to cut you off now. There's a call on the other line."
“Don’t forget that Bontemps has a garage between the one’s used by Norton employees,” said Cleo.
“So they do,” said Gary and rang off.
***
While Cleo was on the phone with Gary, Robert had come back from the wholesalers and snacked a second breakfast standing up. He was now on the point of leaving again.  Cleo did not wait for him to start asking questions.
“That was Gary,” she said. “Bontemps has confessed to smearing white paint on your shop window.”
“The little skunk. He’ll damn well pay for cleaning up.”
"I wouldn't put it past him to spread ugly rumours about your sausages if you do that," said Cleo. “You know how much he resents anything better than what he sells.”
“He sells the ones I sell to him, Cleo. He’ll watch his step, in future.”
Somehow the floodgates had opened on that character. It was only a matter of time till he made an error of judgment.
Mr Bontemps had insisted that people wouldn't pay more than they had to for anything until they were convinced that Mr Jones's pork sausages tasted, even if  but they were a lot dearer than the others, so he charged slightly less than Robert for them. Robert reduced his prices and introduced a spicy sausage he called ‘continental’, which he refused to sell to Bontemps. Smearing Robert’s shop window with paint was done out of revenge.
“But they did not keep him in custody. Gary says they are trailing him to whoever keeps him in petty crime since his shop and flat are stocked with stolen electrics.”
“Surely Bontemps knows that being set free is a ruse, Cleo,” said Robert. “Is that allowed, I mean, setting a criminal free so that they can see what he gets up to?”
“Sure. Bontemps had no choice. Cops don’t send a guy to prison if he has confessed to a small crime like graffiti and you know exactly where he is.”
“I wonder if he’s afraid of whoever hires him,” said Robert. “I’d be terrified that they would come and get me.”
“I wonder if Gary has thought of that angle,” said Cleo. “I’ll ask him.”
Robert left and Cleo phoned Gary.
“You don’t suppose Bontemps could be assassinated, do you Gary?”
“Do you mean that someone might take a pot shot at him?”
“Yes.”
“It’s possible, if his so-called friends want to be rid of him.”
“You don’t seem very worried,” said Cleo.
“What du you suggest, Cleo? 24/7 protection?”
“I’ll go to that supermarket now. Maybe I can observe something.”
“Do you have time for Romano’s, Cleo?”
“Not really, though I’d like to.”
“OK. Phone me.”
***
Cleo always found it tiresome to have to go to the grocer’s, known in Upper Grumpsfield as the ‘emporium’.
Mr Bontemps had taken a few large gulps of gin after returning to work. He was half plastered.
"Anything troubling you, Mr Bontemps?" Cleo asked innocently.
"Mind your own business. What can I get you?"
“Oops. No offence meant, Mr Goodweather.”
“Bontemps. By Deed-poll.”
Oops, again,” said Cleo.
She told him she would like him to be more civil to her, whatever he called himself. Being rude to customers was bad for trade, after all.
"I'm civil enough for dealing with…."
"… a butcher's partner?"
"…with someone who pokes around in other people's affairs," said Bontemps.
“Are you doing something illegal, Mr Bontemps? You are on the defensive.”
“That’s my business,” Bontemps snorted.
"And what or who would that business be, Mr Bontemps? I didn't tip anyone off, if that's what you mean," she said.
"You told them enough," Bontemps garbled.
Cleo leant conspiratorially over the shop counter. That wasn't how Gary Hurley had envisaged the confrontation, but it had to be done.
"Mr Bontemps, it's better to be guilty of smearing a shop window than of murder."
The colour drained out of Bontemps' already sickly pallor. Cheo resisted the temptation not back away from this smelly individual.
"What?" he said in a small voice.
"Murder. You are a prime suspect, you know."
"Well, I didn't do nothing," Bontemps said in the accent he used when he forgot to pretend to be French.
"You were fond of Mrs Finch, but she turned you down, didn’t she?. That's a murder motive in the eyes of the police."
Quite suddenly, Bontemps came out of his drunkenness and looked really scared.
“How do you know about Laura?“ he gasped.
“You wrote your mother a letter, Mr Goodweather.”
“That’s a lie.”
“What is more, the cops have the letter you wrote to your mother, Mr Bontemps.”
“It’s a forgery. The old bag is up to all sorts of mischief.”
“Which old bag?”
“My mother.”
“You definitely wrote the letter, Mr Bontemps. Would you like to see a copy?”
“No, and I can prove I didn't have anything to do with murdering Mrs Finch."
"How can you prove it?"
"Because it happened on the day I always go to the sauna in Middlethumpton and then meet friends for a meal."
Cleo wondered who those friends were.
“But you’d be home to go to bed, wouldn’t you?”
“What’s that to you?”
“Everything, Mr Bontemps, seeing that Laura Finch’s corpse ruined my new carpet.”
“What’s that to me?”
"Did you tell the police about your friends?"
"They didn't ask."
"Careless of them,” said Cleo. “These friends of yours: Are they business friends, Mr Bontemps?"
"Some of them are. What's it to you?"
"Nothing, really, except that they might give you an alibi. Did you ask them to do that just in case?"
"What are you getting at, Miss Hartley?"
"I wouldn't boast about your friends, if I were you. You'll need independent witnesses to get you out of this jam."
That provoked Mr Bontemps into telling her that the friends were really his fans. After the Impro theatre show the previous Christmas he'd been recognized in the street and people thought he was a real actor.
"Did you tell them you were a grocer's assistant?"
"Not in so many words."
"Are you going to?"
"I'll let you into a secret, Miss Hartley. I've been offered a job at the repertory theatre in Middlethumpton."
"Congratulations, Mr Bontemps. I never would have thought…."
"Of course, my first part hasn't got any dialogue."
“That's normal for a budding star," said Cleo. "Who's the character you're playing?"
"Well, actually it's the corpse. I have to lie still hardly breathing all the way through the first act."
Cleo had difficulty in stifling her amusement.
"Have you started rehearsing?"
"Yes, but don't tell anyone."
"Why not? You should be proud of yourself."
 "Oh, I am. I knew I was destined for better things."
"So why did you have to smear that paint across Robert Jones’s chop window?"
"To settle an old score, Miss Hartley. You wouldn't understand."
"Try me, Mr Bontemps. Try me."
"It's damaging my trade to have interference from certain sources."
"Oh. You mean Robert and the price war with the sausages, I expect."
"I never said that."
"You didn't have to, Mr Bontemps. In your place, I would concentrate on proving my innocence of murder."
That was another tactic Gary Hurley would not have approved of.
"Don't they have to prove I'm guilty?"
"Are you, Mr Bontemps? Are you guilty?"
"Looking for a confession, Miss Hartley?"
What are you guilty of, Mr Bontemps? Murder? Or just receiving stolen goods?"
"How do you know about that?"
"You should ask me what else I know."
Mr Bontemps was now almost hysterical. Cleo rubbed salt in the wound by saying "If the cap fits, wear it."
"Piss off."
Mr Bontemps turned tail and went to the back of the shop.
Cleo left him to his own devices. He was desperate. She hoped he wouldn't do anything foolish.
***
As promised, Cleo phoned Gary to report on her shopping trip.
“One curious trait of Mr Bontemps' character is his desire to be noticed. It seems to outshine all the other traits of the little toad. He's an exhibitionist, and that white paint on the shop window was designed to draw attention to himself as an up-and-coming stage actor while teaching Robert a lesson."
"It did, too, Cleo. Draw attention, I mean. Have you seen the dailies yet?"
"No time, Gary. Not even online. Running errands for the police is quite time-consuming."
"Ouch for that. Take a look at the some of them."
Cleo moved to her bureau in the living-room and switched on her laptop. Quite soon she was gazing at the faces of Robert on the left and Mr Bontemps on the right with the headline “Village Sausage Duel in Full Swing” between them.
"Robert will be furious."
"He shouldn't be. The photo of that shop window with its vindictive message is good advertising for Robert. Bontemps does not come out of it well."
"Meaning bad publicity is better than no publicity?"
"No. Meaning that Bontemps is being exposed as a Meanie. That's bad for business. His employer will have something to say about it."
“The repertory company in Middlethumpton, Gary. He’s debuting as a corpse.”
Gary took time to laugh about that.
"I doubt if Mr Verdi will fly in from the Bahamas to discuss sausages, either," said Cleo. "More likely, he'll fire Bontemps, which will be convenient, since Mr Bontemps is going on the stage."
"Look further down the article and there's a comment from the Mayor of Middlethumpton."
"I always buy my sausages at Mr Jones's butcher's shop,” said Mr Cobblethwaite, who was famous for attending functions where there was a lot of food and whisky on offer. “They taste better and Mr Jones has even reduced the price, though as Mayor I am of course entitled to free sausages.."
Quite apart from how much that would infuriate Robert, Cleo thought the newspapers should write about starvation in Africa or something more pressing than the price of sausages. She would have to dissuade Robert from awarding freebies to all and sundry.
"How did the press find out who was responsible?"
"We think Bontemps phoned them when he realized we were on to him," said Gary.
"The little rat! But his ruse did not have the desired effect, did it?"
"No, it didn't. What else did you find out from him, apart from the acting career, Cleo?"
"He confessed that he was settling an old score."
"Oh, was he? And what would that be?"
"For one thing, the sausage war! But basically a grudge against the whole world. Maybe he really is harmless."
"I don't think anyone is harmless, Cleo. Things can escalate to the point when a guy like Bontemps might decide it takes more to put his world to rights than painting messages on windows."
"Bontemps also admitted contact with the Norton brothers, though not in so many words. He is definitely a receiver for some of the stolen goods."
"That information will come in handy."
"But he's nervous, Gary. He was even ruder to me than usual until he realized he was cornered. And he was drunk."
"In his position I think I would be, too. That theatre venture also sounds macabre."
"He says he has fans. You'd better check them out. They hang around the theatre he's planning to take by storm."
"He probably means the converted cinema down the road from the station. He'll make a good stage corpse if he lives to tell the tale once the Norton brothers realize he’s shooting his mouth. What I'll have to do now is make sure that Sam and Jam Norton don't get to him first. I doubt if they will have any scruples about an informer."
"I thought you'd pulled them in, Gary."
"Not yet, but we know where they are. We'd like to collect more evidence of their shady dealings. They come home to roost in that courtyard behind your office together with their acolytes."
"Of course, they rent garages there.”
“So you knew that, Cleo.”
“Robert told me and I’ve seen those white BMWs in the courtyard. Mr Bontemps keeps his old boneshaker there, too, Gary. Mr Verdi lets him use his garage. But that knowledge won't solve Laura Finch's murder."
"We think the Nortons put the body through that window. Maybe they saw who did it and were clearing up the mess. That would certainly make sense if it was Bontemps and Bontemps knew too much about other businesses run by the Nortons."
"Or maybe they just found the body and routinely disposed of it. But why in my office?"
"Probably because they knew they could open that sash window. We now know that Laura Finch was killed in the short tunnel leading to that courtyard."
”How long have you known that, Gary? Couldn’t you have told me?”
“The information came through only half an hour ago. You’ll get a mail. I’ve already sent it. You didn’t answer your phone.”
“I have a mobile, Gary.”
“But you know now, so what’s the problem. Cleo? “
"No problem, except that the search for witnesses will fall to me, won’t it?”
“Not entirely. But you could ask around. It’s your courtyard, too.”
“And pre-warn the Norton brothers? You must be joking. That reminds me of the dead woman I found at Milton's Fashion Emporium last year," said Cleo. "You thought then that the Norton brothers were mixed up in it somehow, didn't you? But you were wrong that time.”
“So we're being a bit more reticent this time. Pulling guys in that you know are gangsters and then discovering they are innocent of the crime you thought you had solved is embarrassing."
"But it took at least two to get Laura Finch’s dead weight through my window."
"The big question is still what she was doing in the courtyard in the first place, Cleo."
"Searching those garages might produce some clues to that. Maybe she was visiting Mr Bontemps or even M0r Morgan," said Cleo.
"Always supposing she knew that they used garages there,”
Said Gary. “You rent one of the garages too, don’t you?"
"Yes, it was the one that goes with the office. The Nortons still have the other two. I don't need a garage and Laura didn’t know about it, quite apart from the fact that she certainly would not visit me round that back of the building. She’d accepted my invitation to the opening, by the way. Mr Morgan uses the garage at the end of the row, I think. I suppose it’s possible that Laura Finch went there to talk to him in private."
"Why would she do that?"
"She might have hoped to change his mind about the chorus. Ask Mr Morgan if he went there that day."
"But surely he would not have any reason to kill the Finch woman?"
"No," Cleo agreed. "But maybe he saw something. Bontemps may have been in the yard to meet the Norton brothers. I was too hasty when I said Bontemps was probably harmless.”
“Meaning what?”
“I think Laura wanted to tell Bontemps she was not going to marry him, always assuming she had ever said yes or even been asked,” said Cleo.
Cleo did not want to think that the little jerk Bontemps could have murdered Laura, but she now had to face the possibility that he had, especially if Laura Finch had followed him to the courtyard to tell him to stop bothering her.
***
"So why did you let Bontemps go free, Gary?"
"Lack of substantial evidence. Without proof, we can't lock him up for anything. I’m just baffled that Laura Finch could have become involved with him in the first place. Any ideas on that, Cleo?"
"If she was involved, Gary, and that’s a big if. Laura used people for her own ends, so she was encouraging his attentions either for her own amusement or to get him to do something for her."
"Isn't that moving into the realm of fantasy?"
"Maybe. So what about this version?"
"I'm listening."
"Mr Morgan invited her to meet him in the courtyard by spinning a tale of showing her his car. He would be wearing gloves to protect his hands from oil. He could have used any number of ruses to get her there. Laura Finch would certainly be flattered to be asked to pass an opinion on something. He might have taken a knife along for some ingenuous purpose or other. But unrequited love has led to countless untimely deaths in the past. Mr Morgan might not look like a romantic hero, but I’m sure he sees himself as one."
"Not bad."
“And you can swap Gareth Morgan and Bontemps anywhere along the line.”
“Not bad at all.”
"Or did Laura Finch witness the Nortons and Bontemps doing something furtive? Having someone watching them doing illegal deals would certainly provoke violence in people who tend to solve all their problems that way. The brothers might have killed Laura with Bontemps watching, then pushed the woman's body through that window and pushed Bontemps in after her to unroll her and retrieve the blanket."
“This is almost the stuff that a cop’s dreams are made of, Cleo.”
"Or it was the other way round, Gary. Bontemps stabbed Mrs Finch and the Norton brothers helped him dispose of her body. That way he would be indebted to them. Moving the body away from that window might have been done in the hope that no one would realize that’s how the corpse got into the office, or, as you said before, to leave tracks that would lead to him being arrested for murder. That would have got him conveniently out of Nortons’ way for many years."
***
Cleo also wondered if Mr Morgan might unwittingly hold a clue to Laura's murder. Who had seen what? She would have to find out. Other ideas came flooding in. Crime novels did not have that many choices. Surely there must be a way of narrowing these choices down.
***
"Still there, Cleo?"
"What? Oh yes, Gary. I have to deal with one or two things now. Talk again later."
"Don't do anything you'll regret, Cleo."
"I won't. I'm going to question those Parsnip kids."




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